


Mary’s Delight

by missrosehaven



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mistress servant relationship, gay best butler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missrosehaven/pseuds/missrosehaven
Summary: Thomas Barrow brings Lady Mary’s favourite supper to her room.
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Henry Talbot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 73





	Mary’s Delight

Dinner was over and Lady Mary had gone up to her room, even dismissing Anna for the night. Even so, Thomas Barrow the butler, a covered silver tray in hand, walked resolutely to her bedroom door and knocked.

“Just a minute,” she called before appearing at the door in her night dress, a look of surprise on her face.

“Forgive me, milady. Anna said you’d turned in early but I wanted to bring you something.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No, milady.”

“Fine,” she waved him inside. “What is it?”

He walked stiffly across her room placed the tray on her small side table.

Mary, realising it was food, began to object. “Oh for god’s sake Barrow! I said I didn’t want any supper...” but then the particularly familiar apple and nutmeg flavour wafted her way. “Is that... my pudding?” She was taken aback. It was the pudding she’d loved as a stubborn child. It wasn’t a proper dish and she’d not had it since her childhood. Her eyes took in the details and the smell filled her nostrils and she felt as though she’d been magically transported back in time. ”Even the little apple skin curls, and the fork and spoon.” It was just as she remembered. “But how did you even...”

“I visited Mr Carson yesterday. It was he who revealed to me your childhood favourite food. Apparently the kitchen staff even nicknamed it ‘Mary’s Delight’ back in the day. Then I went to see Mrs Patmore at her bed and breakfast and she scribbled down the recipe from memory so that Daisy could make it.”

“You went to all that trouble? On your half day off?”

“It wasn’t any trouble, really. Catching up with old friends.” Thomas tried to assure her.

“You and Carson? Old friends?” Mary’s glance was pointed. “That’ll be the day.”

“Well...” Thomas conceded, embarrassed that she was right.

“Did someone put you up to this? Papa? Or Tom?” Mary asked suspiciously.

“No,” Thomas denied, and explained, “It’s just I’ve noticed, Lady Mary, that you’ve not had much of an appetite lately.” It was true that she was never quite herself when Henry Talbot was away for any length of time, but normally that meant she was snappy and easily irritated — especially by Thomas. Lately however she seemed distant and uninterested to the point that he almost wished she _would_ snap at him. “I thought perhaps some comfort food was in order, that’s all.”

To Thomas’s dismay, Mary, gazing at the pudding, suddenly started to cry. “I’m sorry milady,” Thomas stammered awkwardly, “if I’ve misjudged...”

“I was pregnant,” Mary blurted out. “But I lost it. I wasn’t very far along. I hadn’t told anyone yet , not even Henry - I was waiting until he returned.”

“Nobody knows about this?” Thomas was dismayed. Except him.

“Only the doctor.”

“The doctor?” Thomas startled, hoping it wasn’t serious. “What are the doctor’s orders?”

“What? Oh, nothing. I’m fine,” she assured seeing his alarm. “It was a week ago now and it was early days. There are no lasting consequences.” Mary paused and composed herself again. “I didn’t even want another baby,” she admitted. “Nor did Henry particularly, as far as I know. I was perfectly happy before, I should be now. It makes no sense that I feel this way. It’s so silly of me!”

There was a measured silence as Thomas took in what she had told him. And the fact that she’d revealed such an intimate secret to him, of all people. “That’s the thing about feelings, isn’t it,” he said slowly. “One can’t always make them what one wants them to be.” He waited but Mary said nothing so Thomas continued. “Try to deny them, they’ll only rebel against us. Perhaps better to let ourselves feel them properly no matter how silly they might seem. Might even help us know ourselves a bit better.”

“Perhaps,” Mary sniffed. “Is this wisdom from personal experience, Barrow?”

“Perhaps,” Thomas admitted softly. “Although I haven’t been through what you’re going through. Obviously. But we are all human.”

Mary turned teary again. “Pathetically human, I’m afraid. I can’t even make up my mind if I should tell Henry when he returns. I don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill. What’s the point when it’s all over anyway, and it’s not a thing he could ever really understand, let alone fix?”

“Well... Perhaps wait and see how you feel when the time comes. There’s no need to decide anything tonight, milady,” Thomas told her gently. “Except For one thing.”

”What’s that?”

“Only whether you want me to return this pudding to the kitchen.”

“Leave it. I’ll see how I go with it.” It would be shame for it to go to waste after the efforts of Barrow, Daisy, Mrs Patmore and even Carson, and she’d dropped too many tears in it to pass it on. And it did have such a comfortingly familiar aroma. She sat down in front of it, taking a deep breath to savour it. In her night dress her bare shoulders looked thin and pale.

“Are you cold milady?” Barrow picked up her shawl from the bed and offered it to her. After all, Anna wasn’t here to do it.

She let him drape it over her shoulders although it made them both a little self-conscious. “I’ll be alright, Barrow. I’m a tough old thing really,” Mary remarked as casually as she could.

“Just because you’re tough on the surface doesn’t mean you don’t need caring for like anyone else.”

“Thank you, Barrow. I’ll try to enjoy your pudding as much as I used to, to do it justice.”   
  
“Daisy will be pleased,” Thomas told her, moving to the door, ready to leave. “But don’t feel you have to. It’s just a pudding milady, it’s not important really.”

“Oh, but it is!” Mary refuted. “It’s very sweet. Of you. That’s what it is. I can clearly see why you’ve never fallen from the top spot on Little George’s list of ‘nice people’. ‘Nice Mr Barrow’ he calls you.”

Thomas stifled a grin. “Does he! Well we mustn’t let that get out, whether or not he knows what he’s talking about. Good night, Lady Mary.” 


End file.
